Under a Nameless God
by PickledWinry
Summary: "It was always my choice to end the pregnancy." "You weren't the only one who had a say!" "I would never listen to anything you had to say, so what does it matter?" "It matters more than you think..."
1. Abnegate

SEPTEMBER 15TH

XXX

Hermione spent years learning about the hallways of Hogwarts, the secrets people would overlook. Those details came to her in the comfortable silences, the moments before she went to bed, when she was thinking about her life. Sometimes they haunted her in the stillness, when her friends just didn't understand, when she missed her parents, when she thought about the scars on her arms.

Hermione had never intended to become a statistic. Or, at the very least, a bad statistic. Becoming pregnant at seventeen was not her ideal send-off. She didn't want to be Molly, despite respecting the woman and her sacrifice. Wide, overworked, and motherly—those were not words Hermione wanted to describe her. She wanted to tend to her books and change the world.

She spent the whole journey thinking about the reasons she couldn't ruin her life. There were numerous. Hadn't she suffered enough? Didn't she deserve a chance to be happy? She had used the spells right, what had gone wrong? There was something wrong and she needed to fix it. Her spells were flawless. She had never gotten pregnant with Ron and his mother spent six years pregnant. Ron was likely fertile enough to make his own Dumbledore Army.

_And that is why it would never work out. _Hermione thought to herself as she stopped in front of the Infirmary.

It was here that she paused, uncertain. She had sent Madame Pomfrey a letter, explaining in looping, perfect script that she needed a certain help and would she be able to provide it. A time had been written in small, precise letters.

_Please come to the office at 8PM on Saturday. I will see to you then. Do not inform anyone of where you are heading. P.P._

Hermione pushed the door open. Peaking her head inside, she called out. "Madame Pomfrey?"

Poppy came out of her private rooms, white dress crisp, apron tied tightly around her waist.

The moment Hermione stepped past the threshold, the door closed with a pop. The nurse whispered a few practiced lines, causing the door to glow bright blue. The door knob melted into the wood, leaving a silver circle.

"We don't need any guests right now," Poppy said. "I got your owl. Though, I must say I am disappointed in you Miss Granger. I would have thought you knew the proper spells to keep yourself—this sort of thing should not be happening. Especially with everything going on."

Hermione felt her cheeks turn hot. "I _did_ and somehow they failed. I would never have slept with him if this would happen."

Something in Poppy's face changed. Hermione would never really be able to describe it perfectly. It was like her eyes shuttered and her jaw knotted. Poppy clicked her tongue and then her shoulders relaxed.

"I understand," Poppy said. "I see."

But Hermione didn't understand what she saw. Then again, Hermione wasn't all knowing. Books couldn't make up for a lifetime of experience. Hermione wasn't the first girl to find herself in this position.

"I am not sure what happened," Hermione said. "I _did _cast the spells."

"I believe you, Miss Granger," Madame Pomfrey said. "But I am not sure other people will. I would not go around sharing this. This is not something that needs to be explained to Minerva or any of the other teachers. It is not a lesson you need help with."

Working on instinct, Pomfrey started gathering together an arrangement of unappetizing mud in little silver bottles. They were the colors of poisonous reptiles and candy.

"I don't understand," Hermione said. She didn't. Her head hurt, her body felt like shit, and she just wanted someone to explain it to her. She wanted to be twelve again, so she could rewrite her lessons and learn from her mistakes.

"Hermione, you are such a smart girl, but you know very little of the politics of the Wizarding World. There is a reason it is called _Wizarding_ and not Magical Folks," Pomfrey said. She paused, her face going soft. "Your spells were tampered with."

"That _bastard—" _Hermione said. "How could he do this?"

"Hermione, listen to me very carefully. You cannot tell anyone you were here. And if you do, you cannot tell them who you slept with. Not your friends, not your family. There are laws… laws your bedfellow broke when he tampered with your spells. But—Knowingly ending the life of a first born is illegal in most places. You will be shamed even if you were tricked…"

"So, he…" Hermione began. She couldn't finish the words. They stuck in her throat like glue. She was furious and confused at the same time. It was a puzzle that burned into her brain. This was not right. This was wrong. She didn't know what to say, but she had to say something.

"What do I do? He… He tricked me!"

"To be blunt, Miss Granger, I do not want to know the name of the Pureblood you slept with. The spells taught at Hogwarts are very powerful. We don't want girls leaving school because they got caught in a bad way," Pomfrey said. She reached out and took Hermione by the arm. With a brisk tug, she pulled the girl into her office.

Leaving her alone for a moment, she returned with the tray. She arranged the bottles precisely, in a neat little line. An army ready to fix Hermione's mistake.

Pomfrey told Hermione to sit back and relax for a moment.

"Why does it matter if I slept with a Pureblood?" Hermione asked.

"It is not as simple as blood…" Pomfrey said. "It is a matter of which blood."

Hermione opened her mouth. Pomfrey shook her head. Holding up a wrinkled hand, she told Hermione to keep silent. "I cannot know his name. Certain families have _rules _and they would have to be informed about this. I am sure you do not want a Pureblood dictating what happens to their firstborn heir."

"I understand," Hermione said, fascinated. There was so much she didn't know about the Magical World. "In… I was always told I could go and get it taken care of, without parents or permission from anyone."

"Muggle London is much different than the world you live in now," Pomfrey said. She looked at the potions again, muttering a series of spells. "We just need to wait for them to settle and we can get started."

Hermione smoothed her skirt. "It seems so old fashioned here, sometimes."

"Not everyone is as liberal as you are," Pomfrey said, her tone even. "I won't tell you not to do this. I have no right to do that. Plenty of girls come in here looking for answers. But personally, I would keep any comments about mistakes to yourself. No one wants to hear babies are unwanted. It might be true, but no one wants to hear it."

Pomfrey muttered another string of spells before handing Hermione the first bottle. "This is the Barley Serum. Drink it quick. You have seven more to go and a long night of sickness."

"Sickness?" Hermione looked pale.

"Yes, there is always a downside to these sort of things," Pomfrey said.

Picking up the first bottle, Hermione swallowed it down. She made a face, turning slightly green. Pomfrey conjured a bucket for her.

Passing the next bottle, Hermione drank them in quick succession. Hermione spent the next two hours throwing up and running to the bathroom. She swore to herself she would never look at another penis until she turned 18.


	2. Barratry

SUNDAY-

Hermione left at 3:00 AM.

Madame Pomfrey had used a Medical Grade Cleaning Spell to remove all traces of vomit from her robes and hair. Still, Hermione felt acid coated and cotton mouthed as she moved through the halls. She was a ghost, trying not to fall asleep on her feet.

When she arrived at her dorm, held up for ten minutes by the moving staircases, she fell into bed and slept until breakfast. Unlike most students, Hermione could survive on four hours of sleep and look like she'd been on a vacation. It came from years of studying, running, surviving. Still, she wasn't complaining, she felt a million times better.

Despite all the curses of being Head Girl, having her own dorm was a lifesaver. She was separate from the other houses, a few hallways down from Gryffindor. The most glorious part was the private bathroom, a tiny little thing, but beautiful in its simplicity.

She turned on the tap and set about becoming human again. Even with the spells, nothing could beat soap and water.

She luxuriated in the lavender waters for almost an hour. She scrubbed her hair, brushed her teeth, and decided whether or not to risk breakfast. Her belly felt fine, but she didn't know how long those side-effects lasted. Still, she needed to get out and about. People would find it strange if she hid away, especially when she scolded the other girls for not eating.

It was Sunday, so breakfast ran until almost 11.

Getting dressed, Hermione decided she deserved a day off. She left her books on her desk, put on some jeans and a sweater, and walked out of the room.

Lunch was just about to start when Hermione reached the Great Hall. Harry was standing outside the door waiting for Ginny to adjust her bag.

"Oh! Feeling better?" Harry called out.

Hermione nodded. "Um, yeah, all better."

"I figured Ron gave you the Belly Bug," Harry said.

"Is Ron still sick?" Hermione asked.

Ginny eyed Hermione. "Do you have it?"

"No. I have been so stressed out with the Runes project." Hermione gave Ginny a pleading stare.

Ginny nodded. "Oh, are you done with it then?"

"I finished it yesterday."

Harry groaned. "It's three feet! How did you get done with that already?"

"Some people have more drive than others," Ginny said. She took Hermione's arm and led her into the Great Hall. "You must be starving."

Harry shook his head. "Most people take their time."

He followed them to the table.

"I am not most people."

The rest of the day was uneventful. She ate her fill, read for a few hours, hung out with friends, and tried to forget what happened.


	3. Cacaesthesia

It had been three days since the Incident. Hermione had put it behind her and moved forward rather diligently. Hermione had seen worse, been through worse—even if it felt personal at the time. No one else knew. No one else needed to know.

Hermione was more annoyed at Hank Mulberry. He was known for taking his godless time getting to his shifts, how he became a prefect Hermione had no idea. He had good grades, but very little pride in his work. He was charismatic and most people liked him. _That is a good reason, I suppose, if people will listen to him. _

The library was now empty, the candles dimmed.

Checking her watch, Hermione sighed. She could just go without him.

_Rule 34—You must travel in groups. _

Hermione contemplated sending a patronus to wake up Harry. He would walk with her. It counted. He was a backup Prefect; an idea Hermione had come up with. Things happened, students got sick, and sometimes needed a break. Having back up was needed. Always good. Especially when humans were so fucking fragile to begin with.

Taking out her wand, Hermione was about to utter the spell when she heard her name being called.

"Granger."

Hermione frowned when she saw Draco. She didn't want to walk around with him. Anger bubbled in her belly.

"Hank got _detention_ again?" Hermione said. Her tone was neutral.

"No, he has to help Prof Newton with something tonight," Draco said. He watched her with keen grey eyes.

"Then let's go."

She turned on her heel and started walking down the hallway.

"Can we talk?" Draco asked after a moment.

"Second floor," Hermione said. "I can't hear with you chatting."

Draco nodded. They headed up the staircases, checking classrooms and closets as they went. Nothing moved, not even the portraits.

They arrived at the tutoring rooms. They were private, sound proof, and inconspicuous. Hermione opened the door, checking under the tables. No one was there.

"What really happened to Hank?" Hermione asked.

"He asked to switch." Draco sat down on the end of the table.

"I doubt that."

"He broke up with Malinda. He wanted to walk with James."

"Why would it matter if he walked with me?" Hermione asked. She ran a finger through the chalk dust on the board, muttering a spell to clean off the dirty limericks.

"Porker thinks he likes you."

"He is dating Chelsea _Parker_?" Hermione wasn't surprised. Chelsea had been after Hank for several years now.

"Yes. I saw no reason not to be _nice. __Porker tried so hard to win the little lad.__"_

"Sure." Hermione sighed. "Can we go now, then?"

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. His angular face had deep shadows in the dim torchlight.

Hermione tried to ignore how _bloody normal _Draco seemed.

"I want to talk to you about what happened."

"Okay. Two minutes." Hermione leaned against the wall.

"Did you take a pregnancy test?" Draco asked after a moment.

"Should I have?" Hermione asked. "I am on several spells. I made sure to learn them all before I ever slept with you or anyone else." She kept her face even, bored and clear.

"They can," Draco began.

"Ron and I never had to worry about it and his family could start their own country," Hermione said. "I don't see the use. I feel fine. Nothing that screams pregnant."

"Oh. You should—" Draco began. "Just to be certain."

"If I think I am pregnant, I will take a test," Hermione said. "But I don't think I am."

"Yeah… maybe you're right," Draco said, sounding nervous. "But you could still see."

"I will check when I get back to the room and let you know. I don't see the point, though. I am not a first year."

"Okay."

The rest of the night was spent in silence.


	4. Deflocculate

It had been almost three weeks since she saw Pomfrey. It felt almost like a dream. The night spent vomiting in the bathroom, sneaking back to her down, even the night spent with Draco seemed like the plot of an old book. Hermione had that way about her, always trying to put the bad into boxes, turning them into stories that happened to other people.

Hermione didn't want to focus on the past. The past hurt.

Hermione set her book to the side, looking out at the lake. She would need to recast the softening spell, the ground was starting to feel hard again. Maybe she should head inside.

"Hermione?"

Ginny Weasley was standing beside the willow, hands pressed into the bark. There was something serious to her green eyes. Hermione nodded.

"Do you think I only exist in the library?" Hermione asked.

Ginny sat down beside her. "Sorry. I thought you would be working on the Ancient Runes project. Ron has been looking for you."

"I told him he needed to work it out on his own. I am done with that assignment. I have better things to do."

"I told him to leave you alone," Ginny began. She froze after a moment. "Did you say you were _done with the project?_ I must have misheard."

Hermione set her book to the side. She fell back onto her pillow of grass, enjoying the warmth of the sun. "Yes. I handed it in yesterday."

"I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. So, you are just doing nothing?" Ginny asked. "I thought you tutored on Saturdays?"

"I was, for a while. But it's just the same stuff. People don't want me to help them, they want me to do it for them. So I stopped. Ron has three weeks to figure it out, he will be fine."

"I get ya," Ginny said. She followed Hermione's example and stretched out beside her friend.

"I'm going to France this summer." Hermione turned to look at the redhead. "I got a scholarship to Du Ponte."

"Does this have anything to do with Malfoy?" Ginny asked.

"Yes."

"He's been asking about you. He asked me if I knew where you were. It's why I came looking for you in the first place. He said he had something he needed to tell you. He looked anxious."

"We had sex."

Ginny gave a shout. "No."

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"Just promise you won't tell anyone," Hermione said.

"I won't."

"Good."

"Was he good in bed?" Ginny asked after a moment.

Hermione looked at her friend before bursting into laughter. "Hate sex is pretty good. I won't do it again if that answers your questions. Not worth the risk."

Ginny nodded. "I know all about that."

Both girls fell silent, enjoying the weather. Something hardened between them, tightening the space between them. It almost felt like Hermione had a sister.


	5. Ebullition

It took Draco three months to talk to her. Hermione suspected he wanted to see if she was showing. They had a few shifts together, walking around the dark castle. He would linger in rooms, as if waiting for her to burst into tears and beg him to marry her.

Hermione was never one to beg. Or burst into tears. Maybe he realized it. Or maybe he suspected the truth.

Still, it was not a conversation she expect to have in the library, even as late as it was. Eager ears, eager eyes.

"Can we talk?" Draco asked. "It's about Head stuff."

Hermione took a moment to arrange her things before standing.

"I can pencil you in."

The walk to her dorm was slow. Hermione made sure to keep a respectable distance. The sort of distance you give a snake.

Hermione had a small office attached to her dorm, where she met with students to tutor or discuss shifts. It was the office that she took Draco, but not before adjusting the spells to keep nosy teachers from hearing.

"Okay, what is this about?" Hermione asked.

She set her books down and took a seat. Draco did the same.

"I wanted to talk about—Did you take the test?" Draco asked. It was awkward. Still, Hermione kept a straight face. She wanted to laugh at him. Test not needed, asshole.

"I took it. I'm not pregnant."

"How—How do you not tell me that?" Draco seemed confused, as if this were not going the way he planned. And Draco always had a plan, even if it was stupid and idiotic.

"What is this about Draco?"

"_Malfoy._"

"You stuck your dick in me, I can call you whatever I want, _ferret. _What do you want to talk about?"

"My father wrote me. There is a burn mark on the Malfoy family tree," Draco said.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Do not play stupid, Granger! We fucked. You're the only girl I-"

Draco went white.

Hermione felt her mouth thin out, stretched unpleasantly across her peaked face. "The only girl you tried to get pregnant?"

"Pansy saw you go to Pomfrey." Draco was invading her space, his pale face inches from her own. If his eyes weren't coated in fire, Hermione thought he might kiss her again. She moved away, for her own good. She gained her feet.

"I was ill."

"You did something. What did you do?"

"Are you implying something?"

"The only time a burn mark appears is when someone dies. Someone _died. _What did you do?!" Draco seemed to be getting angry now, pushing out his chest. His hands flew around him, like he was casting a spell with his unhappiness.

"How could I be pregnant, Malfoy? I was on seven spells."

Draco blinked. He didn't seem to comprehend her words. "Spells don't always work. They can fail."

"And whose fault would that be?" Hermione demanded. "The only way to break those spells is to cast a _Line spell. _So what happened?"

"You are blaming me?"

"There is no one else to blame."

"You aren't normal. You aren't. No one says the things you do. No one would do this if they were sane. You need to be locked up."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "You _knew._"

"Do you know what a waste it is? Your magical core could..."

"You're lucky I don't press charges. You're lucky I want to put this behind me." Hermione was close to snapping. She wanted to shove her wand into his brain and call it a day. She wanted him to suffer. "You used me and you lost. Guess you will keep your dick to yourself in the future."


	6. Floromancy

Ginny came around her room a few times a week, just to have the luxury of crapping in private. That was the sort of girl Ginny was, oblivious to how delicate she seemed. Which suited Hermione just fine. She didn't need fairies in her garden, she needed warriors at her gate. So it was Ginny that Hermione started trusting with her story. How she had slept with Draco and how the spells had been undone.

Ginny was the person who noticed the way Draco changed. Gone were the smothering insults, the leering looks. Draco had replaced them with a singular focus. He was trying to do something, get something... what Ginny wasn't sure. Either he wanted Hermione to suffer, or he was suffering himself. There was nothing they could do to stop him, really. Hermione was Head Girl, he was Head Boy.

And so the dance continued.

Draco was not giving up. He was determined, for whatever reason, that Hermione Granger would suffer for her slight against the Malfoy name. That was what Hermione guessed, at least, with how often he showed up, pounding at her door, demanding she speak to him, make it right.

It was getting embarrassing. He would show up during her morning walks, he would show up at the library. He seemed determined to shove himself into her life. Yet, Hermione didn't mind. He couldn't tell. It would destroy whatever sliver of respect the Wizarding World had for his family. After all the work his father put in to get off, the gold, the bribery, well… Draco couldn't destroy that.

He would get her for something, one day, she was certain. But right now, it didn't seem real or important. In the outside world, without the aid of teachers and friends, Draco might do real damage. But they were seventeen, with classmates to focus on, sex and drama and magic. It wasn't real. Just like the elves didn't seem real, or the way the food just appeared.

Even six years after coming here, Hermione didn't feel like it was truly her's. And maybe it wasn't, on some level. There had been theories that children unable to access magic fully in the womb don't sense it as strongly. Still, Hermione loved it here, wouldn't leave it for the world. Or her world. She wouldn't leave it for the dead-end muggle existence she would have entered.

She had seen what her mother gave up for a child and how relieved the woman was, without motherhood digging lines in her face. Hermione had told everyone she couldn't take back the spell. She had seen how happy her parents were, how their memories filled in her silhouette with vacations and dinners out.

Without a daughter, they were happier. They were better. Thinner. Prettier. And Hermione wanted that. She wanted the ease of living and dying for just herself. Maybe loving someone. Maybe being alone with her books.

The idea of Draco Malfoy existing outside of the castle—of her existing outside—didn't make sense to her. She had always been here. Or in the schools of her younger years. This had been half her life. The terror of being in the outside world, of her magic having actual purpose, didn't bother her. What mattered, in the end, was that people were going to grow apart. She would meet people who didn't understand why she always checked her bag three times, or why she needed to think so deeply on things. People died if she didn't check her work.

Would they understand her nightmares? Would they think fondly of her quirks? Maybe Harry and Ron would move on without her. And maybe she would be the last one to remember everything with the same vivid hunger and pain. She had always had a good memory and the war was still real to her, when she let herself think about it. When she didn't pretend, it happened to other people.

She didn't want to be like Molly, screaming into the cold air, when they told her that her twins were a broken pair. One in the grave, the other living. She couldn't handle the idea of being broken by yet another person.

So when Draco showed up again, demanding she talk to him, she didn't hold back her anger. She told him to leave or she would tell the press what he did. What a monster he was. What a fucking idiot he thought—She was not going to let him hold her to his stupid rules.

Still, he didn't listen. He never did. He was determined to make a mother out of an unwilling witch. And she should have known the determination to be cruel also strips one of the ability to recognize the right for anyone to be hurt. Other than themselves. Draco was the spoiled, cruel son of a death eater. Hermione should never have played his game in the first place.

But play she would.


End file.
